


Arrow To Her Heart

by Quail (QwahaXahn)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Female Reader, Gender Role Reversal, Gender-neutral Reader, High Fantasy, Hunter - Freeform, Huntress - Freeform, Role Reversal, Romance, Slow Romance, Strong Female Characters, Strong Woman/Weak Man, Women In Power, gender-neutral, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QwahaXahn/pseuds/Quail
Summary: You were raised in a noble keep in wealth and privilege, and the adventuring lifestyle is not for you. Yet now, you've been forced out into the wilderness on a dangerous quest that is sure to get you killed. In desperation, you seek out a legendary hero in his secluded cottage, only to discover that he... is in fact a she. A beautiful, powerful she.You enlist the strong and skilled huntress to aid you in your mission, but along the way you win something much more valuable: her heart.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Reader, Original Female Character/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Arrow To Her Heart

With a quiet grunt, you adjust your satchel higher up on your shoulder. Your simple cloth shirt has long since soaked through with your sweat, and the grime is beginning to stain your leather bag as well. The heat of the late spring sun coats your face and arms, and you wipe uselessly at your forehead with your closed left hand, succeeding only in spreading the droplets around. Much to your frustration, you can’t dig for a towel, because your right hand is occupied with the bag and your left still holds the lead for your horse, Hallon. You give the steed a sidelong glare, but he simply huffs noisily. He’d needed the rest, and he doesn’t seem inclined to apologize.

“Sure,” you cough as his hot breath hits your cheek. “Thanks for that.”

Thankfully, you won’t need to endure the frustrations of the open road much longer. If your navigation skills haven't failed you, you’re nearing your destination. You’ll arrive by noon tomorrow. Of course, that still meant the struggle of locating somewhere to sleep for the night. Even after a month of traveling the Yavish countryside, this territory feels strange and unfamiliar.

You blink up at the sky, gauging the position of the sun. In little over an hour, the sun will start to set, and travel will become much more difficult. You look around, taking in the area. You and your mount are walking side-by-side along a dirt road on the side of a hill. On either side of the road, small stones line the borders between the path and the surrounding grass. The path ascends to crest the mound and then disappears from view on the other side. On all sides, you see golden green fields of grass and wild wheat, stirred by the occasional breeze that pushes small pockets of white, fluffy cloud overhead.

“At least we won’t be camping in the rain again,” you comment.

You say  _ camping _ in the loosest sense of the word—your tent was stolen several weeks ago, so most of your roadside nights have been spent huddled under leaves. By this point, you doubt you’ll ever manage to cleanse yourself of the filth that’s coated every inch of you over that time. Hopefully the person you’re headed to see doesn’t put too much stock in appearances.

You slow to a stop as you crest the hill and dig into Hal’s saddlebag to find your map. Unfurling the beat-up scroll and peering at the written markings, you gauge your location. Then, you look up from the page and take in the small valley below. Not far off, you can see a sprawl of clay-tiled roofs around the central thoroughfare of dirt. This hamlet seems to be too small to merit a note on the map, but then again—neither did your destination.

At this point, though, that village could be a muddy hole with a population of six, and you’d still be thrilled to see it. The mere prospect of a roof over your head reinvigorates your weary limbs.

“C’mon,” you tell your horse, stowing the map once more. “If we move, we can make it there before sundown.”

Hal snorts, following placidly as you guide him onward, down the slope and toward sweet, sweet civilization. Approximately twenty minutes later, you’re headed past the outermost buildings of the village, keeping an eye out for anything resembling an inn. Your gaze lights on a two-storey affair with a wooden patio, and you cautiously approach, pausing to tie Hal to the fencepost outside. You shoot a glance around the area before heading inside and find that only a couple of people are out and about. They don’t pay you much heed besides the occasional glance, but you can guess that travelers must be just infrequent enough around here to warrant a little suspicion. Fair enough.

Once you’re confident that your steed is secure, you ascend the patio steps and duck into the sun-worn brick inn. There are four tables within the space—two on each side of the room—and the interior looks and feels like a brick box. You have to watch your step as you enter, realizing that there is a noticeable drop in height between the threshold and the floor beyond. From an open doorway at the opposite end of the room, a portly woman in a brown-stained apron bustles out and heads for a table to your left, depositing mugs in the hands of the two black-bearded men seated there. On the other side of the room, a lone man sits, nursing his own meal. His hawkish features and blond facial hair mark him as a non-native like yourself. The Yavish are well-known for their squarish, dark features and olive skin.

The innkeeper—as you assume she must be—interrupts your awkward waiting as she ambles up to you and stops, clasping her hands together and looking you up and down.

“Well?” she asks. “What’ll it be?”

“Do you offer rooms?” you ask, praying they wouldn’t be expensive. Most of your spending money got liberated from your person at the same time as your tent.

The woman nods. “Two bronze for the night.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and nod, fishing the payment from your pocket and dropping it into her broad, outstretched palm. She turns to lead you back into the space, and you take a step after her.

“Wait,” you say, and she pauses to look back. “My horse is out front?”

“No stables,” she replies. “He can sleep by the roadside.”

You chew on your lip, contemplating. In that case, you’ll need to haul all of your bags inside for the night. Thankfully, you feel confident nobody would want to steal Hallon himself. The horse is getting on in years, and won’t be worth much to anyone these days. He’ll be safe, if a tad less comfortable than he would have been stabled.

Before you return to retrieve your things, you follow the innkeeper through the back doorway and up a flight of simple stairs to an unassuming wooden door. She swings it open to reveal a modest room, furnished only with an old-looking bed and nightstand. The window on the far wall looks out into the street, and the ceiling is slanted tile that doubles as the underside of the building’s roof.

“Outhouse is in the backyard.” The innkeeper tosses you a small bronze key and moves to leave.

“One last question,” you call out, and she pauses in the doorway. “Do you know of the hunter called Kyrena?”

The woman snorted. “That’s why you’re here? You won’t get any help from there, believe me.”

You take a deep breath. “I have to try.”

“Your choice,” she replies, disappearing from view.

You sit down on the bed with a heavy slump and run a hand through your hair. That certainly wasn’t what you hoped to hear when you mentioned who you were seeking, but you’d told her the truth. You came to beseech Kyrena for aid, and after all this effort you had to at least try. Everyone knew the legend of the mighty hunter who had conquered the Wild Herd and stripped the pelt from a Storm Lion. You’d thought perhaps the hero would be inclined to aid you once you told your story. Now... you aren’t so sure.

After a moment, you stand up again. Regardless of what comes next, you need to get Hal and your things squared away before nightfall. You can worry about the future in the morning.

You wake with a crick in your neck, a sour taste in your mouth, and your hair plastered uncomfortably to your head. This was the best night’s sleep you’ve had in weeks. You push yourself upright and stretch out as best you can, easing the aches and pains you’ve accumulated over time. You pull aside the thin, scratchy woolen fabric that covers your legs and scoot over to the edge of the bed, setting your feet down on the rough wooden floor.

After poking your head out the window to verify that Hal made it through the night without problems, you quickly get dressed in your travel-wear and make your way down to the common room. You take a table in the far corner, next to where the blond man had been sitting the afternoon before. You’re up early, and the rest of the house seems deserted. At least, until the innkeeper appears fifteen minutes later and takes your order for the morning. You get yourself a small meal, and buy a bundle of oats for Hal.

As you settle in and polish up the food, you rehearse your introduction to Kyrena in your mind:  _ I am a nobleman’s child from an Ellish fief in the North, and I have been tasked by my father with the retrieval of a Storm Pelt. I am no hunter, but I hoped you could lend me the Pelt you won two years ago. I promise to return it as soon as I have shown it to him, and I will pay you handsomely for your services. _

Not long after that, you’ve polished up your meal and head out to feed Hal before preparing to take on the final leg of your journey. Once the horse is fed and you’ve moved out of your room in the inn, you mount up and spur the steed forward along the thoroughfare, heading for the hunter’s cottage. As you leave the hamlet behind, you find your path soon takes you into a dense forest, where the trails wind and circle unpredictably. Gritting your teeth against the uneasiness in your stomach, you guide Hal through the dark greenery until at last you sight your prize.

The trees around you clear just enough for you to see a quaint little thatched-roof cottage up ahead, complete with a well, an empty stable, and laden clotheslines between tall fence posts. You guide Hal to a stop in front of the building and pause for a moment, taking in the area. There are no immediate signs of life, but the area is clearly neat and well-maintained.

You dismount, stumbling a bit as your feet hit the ground, but as you reach for Hal’s lead, a voice rings out from behind you.

“Don’t move.”

The speaker is distinctly female, but her voice is low and has a rasp to it unlike any you’ve heard before.

“I have a big, sharp arrow aimed at the center of your back,” she continues. “So if you want to stay alive, put your hands up and turn around slowly.”

Heart pounding, you quickly decide that following her instructions is the right choice here. Slowly, you lift your open palms and rotate on the spot to look at the figure behind you. You watch as she steps out of the tree cover, leveling a full-size longbow at you. She wasn’t lying about the arrow.

You’re surprised to realize, however, that she looks young. Maybe only a couple of years older than you. And yet, she wields her bow with a frightening confidence as she prowls toward you. Her thick, dark, curly hair is pulled back into a ponytail that runs halfway down her back, and she wears a simple set of green fabrics that blend into the surrounding foliage.

“What are you doing at my home?” she asks.

“ _ Your _ home?” you ask. “You’re Kyrena?”

“The one and only,” she replies, voice still hard. “Why are you here?”

“I came to ask for your help,” you reply. “I need a Storm Lion pelt, and you—”

Abruptly, she lowers her weapon and stands upright. She begins stalking toward you, and you cringe to the side only to find that she walks right past you, headed for the cottage door.

“Not interested,” Kyrena says. “Thank you for your visit and goodbye.”

“Wait!” you cry, taking a step after her. “I came all the way from Ell, and I need your help to—”

With a casual, almost frustrated ease, she hops up onto her porch and ducks into the house, slamming the door behind her and leaving you spluttering in the clearing outside. After a moment, you regain your composure and look over at Hal.

“That went badly,” you say. The horse snorts in agreement.

You take a deep breath and begin pacing back and forth around the clearing, rubbing at your temples. You came all this way expecting a tall, fearsome legend who would be moved to help you by your earnest heart. Instead, you got a sarcastic young woman with no interest in even hearing you out. How in the world were you going to complete your quest now?

You take a deep breath, running through your options in your mind. Even though part of you is ready to curl up in a ball and weep for the next thirty years, you know that if you give up now, all will be lost. And you are NOT going back home empty-handed, no matter what.

So, in that moment, you make your decision. You can’t force the huntress to help you, but you can stay here and wait until she at least listens to what you have to say. You take Hal to the side of the clearing and tie him to a tree, and then you take up a seated position on the edge of the treeline to wait. At some point, you end up dozing off, and you wake up just in time to see Kyrena headed back into her cottage from another errand.

“Wait!” you shout, leaping to your feet, but then she slams the door and is gone again.

So this continues for the rest of the day, as you fiddle and fidget and desperately try to stay occupied until the huntress briefly appears in your field of vision before vanishing as soon as you try to speak to her. Gradually, the day wears on, and you realize that you’re likely to be sleeping here tonight. So, you do your best to settle in with your threadbare blanket and get some rest on the harsh ground.

Sometime much later in the night, the rain begins. You’re roused from your fitful sleep by the steadily intensifying series of droplets on your face and head, and you once again curse the loss of your tent. Your flimsy blanket can’t cover more than two-thirds of your body at once, and so you try to cuddle up under a tree for some minimal cover. The icy wetness sends a chill through your bones, and you shiver uncontrollably against the cold.

You’ve almost drifted off again when you realize something is wrong. Hal is standing tall and alert, dancing back and forth with a skittishness you’re not used to from him. Pushing yourself upright, you look up at your horse to hear him whinny in unmistakable fear and distress. You follow his gaze to see, slowly emerging from the woods on the other end of the cottage grounds, three huge, black, furry shapes.

The jagged contours of the animals are muddied by the shadow, but you can see their flashing eyes and hear as they begin to growl. Your heart nearly stops in your chest, and you slowly, carefully pull your feet beneath you to stand up. The wolves prowl steadily forward, fanning out to begin encircling you and your steed. You snatch up a heavy-looking branch from the ground beside you, furious and terrified at your lack of weaponry. The creatures bare their fangs, and the growling intensifies. Hal lets out another scared whinny.

You raise your branch up and prepare to swing at the first sign of an attack, and you’ve almost got it up in time—but then the wolf to your right leaps at you with a vicious snarl. You desperately stagger backward, swinging out at the incoming creature with your branch. But your blow never connects. Instead, the wolf lets out a sharp squeal, jerked sideways to hit the ground with a thud. Buried in its furry chest is a long, brown-shafted arrow with green fletching.

The gazes of yourself and the other two wolves snap toward the cottage, where Kyrena stands in the rain with two more arrows nocked to her massive bow. She levels the weapon at the animals and snarls, and the wolves slowly take a step back. Then, they break away and dash out of sight and into the woods.

You physically sag with relief, dropping the branch and falling to your knees on the muddy ground. Your heart is thrumming and your hands tremble uncontrollably at the knowledge of your near-death. Kyrena moves toward the tree, untying Hal and leading him toward the stable. As she passes you, she pauses to take your arm and lift you onto your feet. Her grip is strong and steadying against you.

“Come on,” she says softly, the rain still soaking into you both. “Follow me.”

After securing the horse in the stable, the huntress leads you up to her cottage porch and pushes open the door. Tentatively, you follow her into the space beyond.

Kyrena’s indoor quarters are as comfortable and sparse as the rest of her home. She has a kitchen in a smaller room off to the left of the main area, which is dominated by a round table and chairs. On the far right wall, there is a soft-looking bench. Through another doorway in the back, you can see a large bed, mostly shrouded in shadow. The huntress moves around you to light a candle on the main table. Then, she reaches down and tugs her soaked toga-like robes down, so that they drop from her body into a neat pile on the floor. Her back and arms are bronzed, taut and muscular. She immediately begins pulling on a new set over her undergarments, and you avert your gaze in embarrassment.

“Get yourself out of those clothes and warm up,” she says as you continue to look down at your feet. “Go in there and get tucked into the bed. You need to rest or you’ll be sick.”

You’d normally argue against being coddled like this, but you’re far too tired and anxious to object now. So you simply do as you’re told and head for the bedroom, where you peel off the soaked travel gear and tuck yourself into the rich, warm sheets of the huntress’s bed. As you huddle there, heart rate slowly returning to manageable levels, you can see through the doorway as the woman moves back and forth in the other room.

At last, the light in the main room goes out, and Kyrena moves no more.

The following morning is even cozier than the previous day in the inn. You come to swaddled in the most warm and comfortable bed sheets you’ve felt since your father... since you left home. It takes you a moment before you remember exactly whose bed you are in and how you got there, and once it hits you, you sit up quickly and pull the blankets tighter around yourself.

Like an idiot, you’d tried to sleep outside overnight in the middle of the woods. If not for Kyrena, you’d have been wolf food in an instant.

Slowly, you scoot to the edge of the bed and stand, tiptoeing to the doorway and peeking out. The dark-haired huntress is already awake, and you can see her busying herself over something in the kitchen. You turn back to the room and see a neatly folded pile of fabric at the foot of the bed. Slowly, you step forward and pick it up—it’s one of her tunics.

Of course, your clothes had been ruined the night before by the mud and rain. She was offering you something from her wardrobe. Perhaps it would be somewhat of an awkward fit, but that was a small concern in the face of the hospitality she had shown you over the past few hours. You donned the clothing and were surprised to find that it was comfortable, even though it clearly hadn’t been tailored for you.

Once you are dressed, you take a deep breath and gather yourself before stepping out into the main room. You find Kyrena sitting at the large round table, in the seat across from you. She is digging into a plate of eggs, and she’s prepared a similar breakfast for you. Slowly, you pull out your chair and sit down. As you do so, the Yavish woman looks up at you. Her expression is unreadable, but her dark eyes flick over your clothing— _ her _ clothing—before meeting your gaze. You notice, now that you’re close to her in the daylight, that her olive skin looks smooth and soft despite her lifestyle. She has strong cheekbones and perfectly sculpted lips, you note, feeling your face grow hot.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “You saved my life last night.”

She looks at you for a moment, then continues eating. “The wolf packs have been getting desperate lately, but I never expected them to come this close,” she says around mouthfuls of food. “And I definitely didn’t expect you to still be here when they did.”

You look down at your hands, folded on the table in polite etiquette. “I hoped I could get the chance to change your mind.”

Kyrena sighs, setting down her cutlery and looking up at you again. “You are wasting your time. The Storm Pelt can’t do what you think it can do.”

“It  _ has _ to,” you mutter. “My father sent me on this quest, and I have to finish it.”

“Forget that!” she replies. “Trust me when I tell you that this is not worth your time.”

“You don’t get it!” you cry, standing suddenly and almost tipping over your chair. “He told me I had to get him that Pelt, or I would never be allowed to return home!”

The huntress stares silently at you from her seat. Embarrassed, you pull your seat back up and sit down again, avoiding her gaze.

“I don’t have it,” she confesses at last. “I threw my Pelt away.”

You look up at her, eyes wide. “But...” All of a sudden, your plans are crumbling to dust in front of your face. All your work has been for nothing. You’ve traveled for weeks, called in all of your connections and favors tracking this woman down, only to find...

“I don’t have a Pelt,” Kyrena repeats. “But... I can help you get one.”


End file.
